Being yourself is hard work

"A friend is one before whom I may think aloud"

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

This morning there was a Jimmy Dean breakfast sandwich, hot from the microwave sitting aside from a tall glass of OJ which I've been mainlining for the past two week thanks to a chest cold.  It said "Turkey sauage, egg whites and cheese on a whole wheat bagel", my description was more "water chestnut (seriously are those things good for anything while baking???), on top of vulcanized rubber inside a colon blow patty of bread".

But, it was quick food since my lovely daughter decided to turn off the alarm clock while watching Trollz before retiring last night, thus me and wife snapped awake when the internal alarm clocks went off 15 minutes late.  I did have a few moments of reflection on a friend who found a big missing piece of his life and wrote about it yesterday.  If you read here, you probably know about one of the best pens on the west coast who is currently cursing his Kings for the quick exit from the Stanley Cup playoffs. 

He may be missing a hockey team, but found something 100x more important, his faith.  I wrote on twitter yesterday that a person should stay true to themselves if anything. If you read the archives here you'd see my struggle with marriage, kids, and myself over the course of nearly eight years.  But, it was the writing and friends that got me to the spot I find myself today.  No burning bush, no shooting star, I did not wake up suddenly and exclaim "HEY I'D LOVE TO HAVE NO FREE TIME FOR THE NEXT THREE YEARS AND GO BACK TO SCHOOL WHILE WORKING TWO JOBS AND TAKING CARE OF TWO KIDS!". 

Doesn't work that way.

As Joe Speaker describes the hints, the reflections in his great post, all people who have poured their hearts onto a page get something back from it.  A blog doesn't care about your chosen faith, color of your skin, your sexuality, if you enjoy using a toothbrush in a manner not recommends by three out of four dentist.  It is a blank page to let go, and show your readers who you really are behind that Armani business suit, the eaten up North Stars cap and stale smell of alcohol while leaned over a townie bar's chipped rail, or for most reader here:  a poker table. 

I have met the most amazing people through this medium.  People who wouldn't have entered my life if it didn't exist.  I've penned many sappy posts about them but the fact remains that my life was able to progress because of those folks, quirks and all.  Just like Speaker's true friends embrace his renewed faith in God, people accepted me at face value and that's never happened before. 

I've pretty much found my purpose in life.  Teach my son to spin a decent curveball, trying to teach my daughter that jumping off a roof may seem like fun but the landing is a bitch, and my wife that its ok to be herself and to start enjoying life without worrying about what others think.  I am a degen, and will always be.  Work hard, play harder is my mantra and will go to my grave knowing I gave this life all I had, and lived out all I've ever wanted.

I may not get the corner office, I may not ever reach Machu Picchu (go read Pauly's epic adventure in Peru and don't forget the photos at the end, breathtaking, even the receipt to use the bathroom), but I will get my college degree 16 years after I started it, I will get to Europe (even if I blow through my savings account for just one beer at Oktoberfest), I will walk my kids down the aisle while groaning at the promise of an open bar, and I will see Speaker again and hand a beer over to someone I geniunely respect for sharing a lot of himself yesterday and taking an actual leap of faith.

I am not APA approved

Two of my friends are going thru two types of stress right now.  Mrs. Chako has quantity stress while the good doctor Chako tangles with quality stress.  Anyone would gladly take quantity over quality in this case as we're not talking about football or sex.

Being a busy person myself quantity stress is a part of my life now and will be until March of 2013 when I fly down to Florida to don a cap and gown, with probalities of trekking to Key West as a self-release from three years of work-schoo-familyl-work-school-me time-school type schedule and work myself into a rum-induced coma along Duval Street.

Unforunately, one of my professors continues to press quantity stress into quality stress with needling that irks my personality.  I am a firm believer in quality work, that if the product's quality outweighs a structured outline then it should be graded as such.  Not Mr. APA-jackhole.  Oh, the citations are super-neato spiffy now thanks to Lightning and his wife's suggestion (the citation creator on Microsoft Word worked like a charm THANKS!).

The assignment "Describe a personal situation in which YOU had to overcome cultural differences in communication".  Not a problem since my company merged some of its duties overseas and I have daily emails/calls/IMs from the crew across the Atlantic.  This interview-styled paper would be a snap.  Of course when I receive such papers back there's no mention of the quality, only the quantity has it has been for this quarter.

"You cannot use first person verse" was the only comment.

This is poo.

Thankfully Otis gave me a sample of writing from personal experience without using first person verse which I will be attempting to use for future assignments, but outside of Bobby Bracelet's third person mastery I was a bit stumped as to how to go about this.  It's a PERSONAL experience, not writing from someone else's experience and breaking down their prose.  Also, not one mention of the content.  It's almost as if the professor skims the paper (entirely possible) for APA-related errors and moves on.

I don't half-ass assignments, I write them as if someone is paying me to do so but if this is how the education system works (for this guy at least) and this professor is forcing me to play his game, so be it.  You will receive what you ask for:  robotic, monotone scribble BUT in perfect APA formatting.  Sir.

This is killing half the reason I returned to school. Yes, pretty paper with official seals and Dean of Whatsamatta U's signature on it is the end-game, but feeling good about the work produced, writing for a purpose much like I do on the weekends, is what I really wanted.  I gave up on floating thru the remainder of my breaths four years ago after hitting rock bottom for myself, my kids, and most of all my wife.  Sure days filled with a bland 9 to 5 job, Call of Duty, porn, alcohol, bars, and take out pints orange chicken with cream cheese wontons sounds great, but I wanted more and my friends and family deserve more.

And despite the professor's will to blacken my return to school, I'll play his game for now and prevent the quantity stress from becoming quality stress. 

From Duluth With Love

With five days of zero work responsibilities and just school to worry about, a refreshing trip to the trailer cabin and North Shore were in order. If someone were from out-of-state and had a few days to putter around our flyover state, I would suggest heading straight up north for the North Shore. Rich in history, the edges of Lake Superior not only offer up gorgeous views but antique shopping and a hidden gem for micro-brew lovers.




We weren’t able to head further up north than Duluth but our friends managed a day at Gooseberry Falls with its over 100 foot drop that blows the Minnehaha Falls out of the water with its surrounding forest views.

Image from Nikilynn.net

For the beer drinkers, Fitger’s Brewhouse (and 4-star hotel) is a must. My suggestion is to try a flight of samplers, and request the Hercules if it’s available. You most likely cannot get a growler of the Herc, but the El Nino Double Hopped IPA or Big Boat Oatmeal Stout will tame your tongue once you return from these lumberjack-esque lands.



We’re working our way from the top down so as you enter Duluth with its taconite loading docks for ships heading out onto Lake Superior be sure to bring an appetite and some cash for shopping. Little niche shops of handcrafted items, touristy Nordic wear, and antiques are spread out along Canal Street. My family and I checked out the tour of a perma-docked ship the S.S. William A. Irvin. Our guide with a group of 20 had a little lack of volume control but was an encyclopedia ship knowledge after spending 30 plus years virtually living on ships like this one. He easily guided us through the captain’s quarters, explained how the crew managed to sleep ten feet from the engine room, and how his girlfriend saved his job as a porter from a fire-happy Chef (she’s the daughter of the ship’s owner). For just $11.50 a piece (kids free!) we got to see an IMAX movie (Dinosaurs, was decent for its archeological perspective) and go on this guided boat tour.



After checking out the pier with huge freighter full of taconite pellets going out, it was time for Grandma’s and its famous cheap pitchers of booze. Back in the day when my legs cooperated and a young volleyball player was able to jump high enough to hit the tip of the end poles, we would meander over to Grandma’s at the end of Minnesota’s biggest volleyball tournament and enjoy $3 pitchers of Kami’s and Long Island Iced Teas. Today they cost $5, still a bargain as they have added live bands and better food to the mix while their staple Bonottas still rule the menu.



After the long day it was time to head back to the Cities for life back on the grid as I started to take in the poker news I’ve been missing like Durrrr vs. jungleman12’s (check here for the scoop from Dr. Pauly's post at Full Tilt’s Poker From the Rail blog) new staple of degeneracy as another Durrrr challenge takes off as Dwan’s first challenge against Antonius winds down (finally).



And of course, yours truly was taking in the news from the WCOOP, which I’ll be on the PokerStarsBlog.com team for my third year of coverage. First assignment is tomorrow afternoon’s Event #13 PLO8 6-Max One Rebuy, One Add-on with a $200,000 guarantee. And that will dribble into Friday’s Event #16 Pot Limit Omaha 6-Max. Hmmmm, it seems I have the degen tourneys maybe I should have snagged a couple more of Fitger’s growlers to bring home.

Parenting: You're allowed to have fun too

It takes two people to create a child and a village to raise them, or just one father trying to juggle Maslow's self-actualization theory as it relates to business management while getting his daughter to finish her mini corn dogs in under 30 minutes.  Getting a blip of single parenting this weekend as the wife was whisked away with her girlfriends to a camp somewhere deep in cheesehead land.  Each time I can to slow down and enjoy watching our breeding efforts run up to the 15 foot tall giraffes at Como Zoo, or simply crack an egg ever so slightly against the new countertop its a lesson in learning to appreciate your kids.

Some parents brand their kid too often with the word "burden" across their foreheads in their younger years and end up trying to chase them down for a hug well after their legs and minds become too fast to catch.

Not me.

Extended weekends like these make me enjoy my two children for who they are and what they will become.  Despite not knowing the consequences of popping open a jar of peanut butter where the oils floated to the top and ended up spraying my work clothes like Peter North after a month long vacation, and being rushed to gather two kids and their respective sets of toys, clothes, and bodies for day care at five in the morning, I love it.

The feeling of being needed, or the third rung of Maslow's pyramid "Love and Belonging" was climbed this weekend, yes the Daddy voice made its appearance a few times over minor "she/he did it" moments but even more so the "thank you's" and hugs came in  regularly, unforced, and welcomed even at 6:00am following a night of online poker degeneracy which saw several deep runs in happy meal sized tournament that went for naught.

Seeing the pure smiles on their faces in the mini water park at Como Zoo as the temperature rose above 90 but my temper never did.  Instead of retreating to "you're wrong and I am right" tactics, instead I asked why did something that was conduct unbecoming my child.  No, I did not break into Staff Sargent Drizz like below:

I GOT YOUR ASS AND YOUR HI-C DRINK BOXES!!!!

Instead we enjoyed a day at the pool, the Zoo, the batting cages, and at the end of the weekend some quiet time laying out exhausted while watching Favre get a rude welcome back into the NFL and becoming more of a family than people I hand my paycheck and sanity over to.  Nothing stays double rainbows and orange desire scented Axe body spray, but with hopes there will be less quiet time in the corner and more pure embraces that make this old guy get out of bed with a purpose each day.

Smells Like Christmas Spirit

The WSOP schedule is out and I'm already thinking about making a return to the Rio this year for another shot at an Omaha Eight-or-Better tourney.

I'll catch back on this subject later in the year, and closer to tourney time. If there's an interest for a partial staking again, I may make the trip.

No post tonight just ready for the holiday season to come to its peak over the next week with screaming kids from the shuffle from house to house, lack of sleep from the mounds of chocolate dipped pretzels and Hershey Kiss centered sugar cookies. Its also a great time to catch up with the relatives whose company I enjoy yet only find a rare golf outing or birthday to say hi.

Be sure to check out the PokerStarsBlog this weekend for the Sunday Majors recaps, I'll be on the bag for the Sunday Warm-up this week, and the two promotional tourneys next week (Battle of the Planets SnG Challenge and $1 Million Turbo Takedown with PokerStars Pro bounties).

Rock Em', Sock Em, Fight, Fight, Fight

There's some poker on Tee-Vee tonight as Father Andrew Trapp will be taking on a Team PokerStars Pros for a shot at $1 Million today in the PokerStars Million Dollar Challenge.

Check out the video below:


Watch Million Dollar Challenge on PokerStars.tv

But, first its NFL Sunday!! For Vikings fans we're hoping for a continuation of the tide, and no injuries against the woefully bad St. Louis Rams. A trap game the pundits are calling it, I call it a reason to sport my new fanboi acquired Jared Allen jersey that I ordered at the beginning of the season. No sack dances today as last night I played in a softball tourney in 35 degree weather, while that may seem fine to our friends to the north, the temp is in fahrenheit. Add on a 20 mph wind and just gripping the ball to pitch became a chore. But, a recollection of day's past when spending a day or a weekend at a sports bar with two sweat soaked uniforms and a dozen empty Miller Lite pitchers on circular raised tables was the preferred way to enjoy a weekend.

Now, older, wiser, and body feeling like a Packer's offensive lineman from last week this morning, sitting reclined with Wyatt munching on Fruit Loops while Casey Kasem revives his role of Shaggy on Scooby Doo's adventures seems like a safer play...


... at least until it SKOL TIME!!!!

We Just Want Your Moneys

Its a strange place to understand the logical explanation behind the illogical premise of the "customer service" at the bank.

Bear in mind my love for banks is at an all-time low due to an on-going struggle with Wells Fargo that ends with a 30 minute call to their call center (which I'm pleased to announce has English-first speaking individuals) about a $12 fee that gets tacked on to my Super-Wonderful-Get-12 Cents-More-In-Interest checking account that the slick banker told me would cause no issues transferring to this "higher" tier of service. That's been going on for eight months with a new explaination each month TAKE SOME CALL NOTES YOU DOLTS.

Yesterday after working 11 hours I rushed over to US Bank before closing to get their signature on an insurance check which I would then turn around and sign over to the contractor that did an awesome job putting up new siding on the abode (picture coming soon after the wife picks up the new lighting).

Easy right? Its not your money, sign it off and away I go back to my bank.

Not so fast pal.

"What was this for"

"Hail damage, I need to get this to the contractor to pay off the remainder of his invoice"

"Where's the proof of work and insurance estimates"

/points to easily seen stack of papers neatly stacked behind the check along with signed invoice of work completed by contractor

He tries looking important while re-reading the papers for the next five minutes...

"I need to make a call"

Dials phone to some office.

"They need some forms filled out, I'll be right back"

Meanwhile my patience level went from complacent to annoyed that the waitress gave me the wrong drink.

He returns with four well-used forms, two of them look like Ad-Libs that I'm hoping he'll let me use to return the favor of this annoyance.

"We need to fill all these out"

Take five to seven minute to fill out forms, consider five rapid knees to the head but see adorable picture of daughter and wife behind him, decide to dream of free Cap'n Cokes and fake 36D's at a strip club instead.

"One moment"

This is now twenty minutes into something that should have taken about 15 seconds.

Comes back with spiffy self-important guy who judging by his dress and handshake enjoys pantsless parasailing and all night Bette Midler movie-a-thons while snacking on bon-bons.

He tries to be cordial, I attempt the same but feel a rage like I didn't get my extra Arby sauce packet again. He tries the same shuffling of the papers for five minutes then looks up.

"We need to wait until the head office is able to review these forms and may require an inspection of the home, notary signature from the contractor, your tax forms for the past 10 years, blood and semen sample, and proof that you know how to play Badugi"

/jaw drops

"Ok, this check is made out to me, tell me again why I need to jump thru all these hoops just so the contractor can get paid?"

He attempts to mumble some apologetic line from the employee handbook.

"Fine call me tomorrow"

I take leave before dropping the file cabinet on his Homer Simpson-sized head, fuming that I just wasted nearly an hour intangled in the bank's red tape.

For the record, I understand the need to protect assets. US Bank holds my mortgage (currently) but what I don't get is why the hell would they care what happens to the house as long as I'm making payments on time on the debt?

Its paperwork for nothing, an attempt to make someone at their home office feel important and have gainful employement because even if I was in cahoots with the contractor to bilk the insurance company out of money for a job never done (which 100% isn't true) they shouldn't care what shape the house is in as long as I'm paying down the debt ON TIME. There is no reason to believe I'm a financial risk besides the fact that I'm prone to overplaying AAXX at the $100 NLO8 tables.

---

Aside from that waste of time, there's golf and waterparks in my future as we travel up north this weekend to see my father's side of the family. Six brothers and plenty of cousins my age to sit around a lake-side cabin with cold drinks and homecooked food with my musician cousin strumming out tunes.

Perfect.

Wanting to Hear What Someone Has To Say

People may have heard Americans are getting a new president today. $150,000,000.00 is being spent by various functions and committees to ring in our Commander-in-Chief, and if packages like these $50,000 Politically Correct one at the Ritz-Carlton or The Fairmont Eco-Inaugural Package at a svelte $40,000 one can could see the money exchanging hands for the record number of security detail needed today.

The ring is moving from the right to the left as Obama’s engagement period is over, and he starts the hard road of marriage today with a speech that is supposed to captivate an economy torn nation into believing in itself again. But, could the spoken words really be THAT good? Aren’t the promises to the American public so large and so grand, its similar to that one ex-girlfriend/boyfriend that you never got to have sex with but had a road map in your head to the three day carnal monkey banging that left you both so sexually satisfied a video of it would become the number one teaching aid to good sex?

Will Obama give that worked-up release today after a year of preaching it as he addresses the nation as its president? He does bring hope, whether the hope becomes action, and action becomes results will be seen over the next four years.

----

I wish I was able to view this historic event but as a personal matter today, I’ll be addressing issues at the local level. For many years I’ve kidded myself due to vanity mostly. But the countless missed words, conversations, and asking for closed captioning to be added to the TV set have caught up to me. My hearing problems is one that have caused humor undo to myself as words coming out of my mouth don’t always match up with the conversation and sometimes with embarrassing results.

Ok, its pretty funny when someone could be talking about their car and I chime in with a reference about the time I passed out on the hood of my white Madza 626 DX at the 1995 Edgefest concert that had nothing to do with their new heated seats and shift-on-the-fly four wheel drive.

But, it’s uncomfortable.

Also, I miss my daughter’s explanation of her elaborate princess get up with five rings on each finger to the big man kneeled down in front of her who just nods approvingly or my son’s latest sight words he has conquered in reading class.

It has probably held me back professionally in many areas whether it is at my current company or possible future gigs in poker reporting. The number of times I wanted to put my head thru some tempered glass after not hearing something is too vast to count and to explain what it feels like think of going thru life with cotton stuck in your ears, you can see the mouths moving, you can catch most of what’s being said but have to guess the other words like some prime time Fill In The Blanks game show.

Today I’ll be visiting Pararella Ear, Head, and Neck Institute to see if obtaining a hearing aid will get the cotton out of my ears. Granted I’ll have to save up the $1,000-$3,000 for the pair should the audiologist believe such a device is worth the cost. Easier said then done, but there's some extra work in the mix that should it pan out, the cost won't strain the house finances.

One of us today will be bringing a nation closer to together with words, the other is hoping to bring his family and friends closer to hear their words. I’m just lucky that I don’t require a custom made Caddy to get to my podium today but sure to feel the same exuberance afterwards.

Not Exactly Top Ten

That could have went better.

For my birthday I received a head butt, got peed on, stepped on, ignored due to Holly Hobbie's search for maple tree sap for the Spring Festival, kicked in the balls, and finished the night with blue balls.

At least the home cooking was supreme as always: Huge breaded pork chops, whipped potatoes, layer biscuits, and topped off with some angel food cake with ice cream.

At least my stomach was satisified and I got to see my brother and sister. If there's a wonder why I enjoy my fantasy-land birthday's in Vegas, look above. Call it selfish if you want, but it would have been nice to have a birthday celebration with at least an enjoyable dinner and laughs instead of fighting with a two year old to finish her dinner.

See you folks in four days, I'm hoping for a better attitude by then because right now I'm mired in a cloud "don't give a fuck". And if history repeats itself, that's a dangerous attitude to have in Vegas.

Suck and Resuck

Under things that suck:

I got a chain email stating my contract with keepyourpokerface.com was cancelled. No personal words, just a chain letter. Not sure how to feel about it since work vs. pay was tipped to just bring in traffic versus applauding free thought. Somewhat relived that there’s no more deadlines and can focus a little more on a writing gig I care about versus being nothing more then a poker flag boy at the huge internet parking lot. Still, a little miffed at not getting a direct word on the pink slip (but I'm sure the Google bombing of internet ads had something to do with it).

Under things that don't suck:

Pictures from our recent drive over to the 101 Market's corn maze in Otsego. The fun part came with finding the six markers within the maze to spell out a phrase for a weekly $500 drawing (which sadly I did not win).

Ah, yes! I left my sister behind sign number two

Your frugal attempts to make me smile have been noted

Who in this picture needs a beer?

Running Off the Pain

After running the Twin Cities Marathon warm up 5K race this morning, I believe I left the remains of my tainted liver on the sides of Summit Avenue (the results say 36:59, but I didn't get to the starting line till four minutes later with the kiddies in their mobile fun bus, and I suck at running).

A gracious thank you to Al who host of all host to this party of all parties, and opened up his house for this degenerate (but since I couldn't hang as long as Al, so the G-Vegas folks were kind enough to offer real estate on the floor of the fleabag hotel). I truly suck at things like staying conscious.

Write up the Pub Olympics and my Dancing With the Stars audition tape later at night?

Maybe.

Blessed with friends who have recapped the festivites leave me with only a few more tidbits of non-Captain soaked memories. But, those memories I'll hold onto just like the jaunts to Key West last year, Chicago, and all the blogger hog piles that have been and will be.

What amazes this gentleman sitting watching SpongeBob Squarepants in a Gophers jersey after their first "real" victory of the season (and first one since the new coach proclaimed a new era), is that despite our meetings via online poker dwindeling into a few hours a week, the friendship across the board has never been questioned.

For that, I am a lucky guy to have met such people.

My Miracle is Five Years Old

Today is one of those days where reality gets blurred between the lines of what you want, and what you should want. In the past, today’s big announcement of a project I’ve headed from my worker drone position would have me tossing and turning in bed worrying about what four-star general wouldn’t like its functionality. The whispers of co-workers questioning my single digit IQ and their amazement that breathing and walking are motor skills I’m able to complete without a 50 page manual.

Instead my mind is already at CiCi’s pizza flanked by my now five year old son who will tell me about his going under water for a dive stick during swimming lessons today while snacking on a slice of garlic cheese bread. Sure, self-importance and self-esteem is a necessity, otherwise how would you pour that bowl of raisin bran every morning assuring yourself good digestive health for the next ten minutes before taking down a pair of McGriddles and three hash browns. Ok, maybe you personally aren't on a health kick yet, but a positive reaction to that reflection in the mirror should be a goal in life. I watch many peers stake their claims on job titles and pieces of paper. In twenty years those papers will be gathering dust and the basement drawer holding the coffee mug received for getting that promotion will sit dormant.

The memories of a hard backed bench, second-rate pizza slice being held by a glowing face of someone who is glad that you took the time to have sex, and the family that surrounded the parlour with rainbow colored party hats. There’s your self-importance, because no matter how small of a deed, you made a difference in someone else’s life not job.

I’m done being crabby now. Here’s one of my favorite song that never fails to put a smile on my face.

Changing From Nyquil to Peppermint Lotion

I can have posts from 2004? If I'd found myself writing the below dreck now, there would be a paddleboard in hand to firmly knock some sense into the left side of my face.

Seven are supposed to be lucky, right? You get three 7s on a slot machine and you've won a jackpot! After 3 seventh place finishes in 3 SnGs last night had me on tilt. KK in EP, 4xBB raise, re-raised all in by.... AJo (Ace hits the turn). Sigh. JJ in LP, push all in to get called by.... 78s, flush flops. Sigh. QJo and a board of Q - J - 6 rainbow. Bet, get raised, I push, he flips over J6o YEAH! But a 6 hit the turn. Sigh.

Bad night and I didn't help things by pushing with pocket 8s from EP early in another SnG. I think the advice about playing when you feel like shit should be taken more literaly. I've been snapping at the wife, she snaps back, I take more Nyquil, tilt away some money, no one wins. Tonight I'll be resting and no poker. Hopefully I'll refreshed enough to hit the tables a little bit tomorrow.

One thing jumped out as I went down ghey blog memory road, lots of "fighting, snapping at wife" comments. This typing thing was/is/will be my public clinic therapy. Except without the chlamyida and gonorrhea soup on the seats while waiting for your number to be called two hours later. While the effects of the accident have almost vanished, so has the broken glass shards me and wife used to waddle around in at home. Next time I decide to be on the receiving end of blunt force trauma, I'll phone ahead to the spouse and let her know her Webble has returned and to jump on and enjoy the ride.

Seriously, would you let your husband fly off to Chicago for a weekend of Debbie Gibson wake-up calls and downing a 12 pack of beers overlooking Wrigley Stadium while surrounded by hotties? Sure the day to day stuff isn't exciting as I spent two hours yesterday pleading with the two tax deductions to kindly allow me to retain whatever is left of my hearing by not crying loud enough to drown out even Warthog's nightly mating calls.

I may not be lucky at cards or at avoiding large falling objects, but I found a keeper at home.

Head or Gut?

If you had to choose between:

Arguing with your wife for five minutes and arguing with a two year old for the same amount of time, which would you pick (neither is not an option)

Anyone played one of these super turbo SnGs at Full Tilt? It beats out NLO8 as the new slot machine of poker.

Hope everyone had a safe blogger trip to Vegas, and those in a working capacity at the WSOP a hope for pictures of Kristy Gazes by the pool :)

When One Door Closes...

No, I didn't win the Powerball.

Sunday morning I dragged my body outside of the cozy pocket of warmth to get rid of another night of punishing a handle of perfect amber colored liquid. The air wasn't too cold for those of the northern ilk, especially with the stylin flannel pj’s the wife got for me. Since the restroom wasn’t as simple as opening an adjacent door, thanks to the wonderful people at Pleasureland RV who’s customer dis-service have my old trailer retaining water and decaying quickly, while my new one sits in a parking lot with notes from the park about needing to move within the week. Their fortitude towards making another one-time customer and infecting possible customers around me, actually forced me to enjoy my time even more up at our cabin.

The walk was no more then a mile round trip, lined with a packed dirt path and pot holes forming from the recent rainfalls and trees getting ready to blossom to full green mode within a few weeks. The devoid of sound other then woodland creatures scurrying about before the overly loud four year olds come outside with their newest buckets and big wheels, gave me a new appreciation to this place. Sure, Saturday’s spaghetti and booze fest mixed in with the excitement of the Kentucky Derby was fun. Chatting with our long time friends in front the fire while kids wore half of their s’mores like a milk mustache brings a smile.

But, that walk alone is what refreshed me, as the kids decided the cramped space of our 12’ X 12’ screenhouse was not sufficient for playing and voiced their opinions negatively the majority of the weekend. All the whines dripped away with each cooled step towards the shower/bathroom community house so I could rinse off the soot off from last night’s fire. But, the door was locked. Normally this would bring a twinge of anger to bubble up, but instead I just looked forward to making another trek later on.

This is how I see that offer to go to Rio this past week (which is going on now, so check out PokerStarsBlog and LAPT.com for details). The journey of banging the English language into submission here for nearly four years has been the calming walk towards a possible job writing about poker on a more serious level, getting turned away wasn’t fun nor upsetting, but I’m still going to enjoy the walk back.

Who knows, maybe next time I try, the door will open.

And if you weren't listening to BuddyDank's crew slaying the Borgata this weekend, do so immediately.

Squirrels on Midol

It didn't happen. Lost my last buy-in to a fun group of bloggers.

Poker is done for this week and possibly for a good length of time, except I might pop in on the Bodoggie a few times ( this week with Josh Arieh and $100 bounty on his head!) and one or two Battle of the Blogger tourneys.

A torrid stretch that has left me with online scraps that have really hurt my time at home and the office.

I'm taking the game too seriously again and resign myself to chasing purple coins on Super Mario Galaxy at the request of a four year old, or flicking off Tom Morello every time he defeats me on Guitar Hero. Or my new/old found habit of falling asleep with a R.A. Salvatore novel like last night while watching UNC destroy the Razorbacks and watching my last place bracket in Pauly's pool continue to get worse (but I do have the most possible points should some miracle occur).

This weekend we went to stake our cabin lot out for the pending delivery of the new love shack and found a woodland creature transformed herself into a 3-inch wide drill bit and bore a good sized hole into our shed. I say herself because only a woman with PMS after seeing her Chip come home with the intoxicating aroma of baby powder and Jack Daniels with glitter on his crotch, could have worked up the anger neccessary to do this.

Next time I'd hope this lady-folk could find a different outlet for her temper as the clean up and repair will take up time normally reserved for dripping rum over ice cubes and Coke while double snunking my wife in a game of cribbage.

On the bright side of the ledger, we took the kids with us to the cabin for an easter egg hunt the park was putting on at 10:30am. Unfortunately, due to road conditions better suited for mid-December we arrived at 10:40am and got the same answer as someone trying to order an Egg McMuffin after the pre-determined time of switching from breakfast to lunch. Despite having only a few more teeth then your favorite National Hockey League thug, her kindness of dropping by our place about 15 minutes later with a Cub's Food marked bag full of plastic eggs that rattled with coins and chocolates put some faith back into me.

Thanks for dropping by, now hit up the Hoy tonight as the last week to get that first $2,000 seat to the WSOP is up for grabs.

2008? Are We Old Yet?

The toys have all the necessary batteries, some have already fallen to misuse, and others have had Full Tilt installed much to the delight of players who enjoy poking sharp sticks at me playing trash and hitting. But, poker and I are doing fine despite the results not turning around recently to a positive note or general increase under the balance section.

New Years started with a chick fight, and ended with hugs, kisses, and numb fingers wrapped around decent cigars out in the garage knocking back stories of wasabi, golf, and drinking a little more then the gas tank can handle. Always a fun party with little ones running around, all one year older, one year wiser, one year towards growing up too fast. Even though this year was probably the most sober I’d spent ringing in the new year since the great Captain drought of aught one, seeing all of my friends is all the buzz I need for a good time.

That and some kick ass chicken wings.

At home I’m reliving my college days of eating with paper and plastic utensils and wondering which roommate stole my Rush CD, and smoking clove cigarettes at the dorm with the hottie from the tri-delts as the drywall is up and taped, and lighting fixtures are screwed in awaiting the new cabinets and refrigerator (anyone need a throwback fridge?) that doesn’t produce off white colored ice. I have had zero hand in finishing this project other using my wallet to hand over my paycheck to Home Depot and hauling the battered remains of the 70s styled kitchen to the frozen trailer outside.

Did you know its cold in Minnesota? Its true, my glasses stuck to my face this morning like Flick’s tongue to the pole after the triple dog dare. Luckily, the wife decided we needed to go to Texas next month for no other reason other then to get silly off dollar margaritas in Mexico and golf with two of my closest friends and their spouses.

Life Alert.

You need a new commercial.

Although “I’ve fallen and can’t get up” never gets old and causes a chuckle or four, C. Everett Koop is looking a tad tired after peddling this product for the past three decades. Maybe Tom Emanski will follow this advice and upgrade to Joe Mauer over the Fred McGriff.

Enjoy the new year, maybe I’ll do a clichéd resolutions post tomorrow as I need some goals to continue this madness of watching people calling pot sized raises with 668J in Omaha hi/low out of position heads up and hitting. Or I’ll just spend the next 12 months trying to get to the expert level on Guitar Hero.

Hope everyone enjoyed the holidays, and hope to see you folks again soon.

A Little Give and Go

Besides the cold weather in these parts, a thawing happened over the weekend. No, it wasn’t the cards on the poker table as those continue to bend the long odds in the opposite direction of my chip stack. As I’ll tell you, I hate seeing friends get the short stick more, like getting Aces on two tables at the same time getting one cracked and one folded around to his big blind while short stacked in a tourney.

The warmth around the house didn’t come from the heating ducts, although with the 20 below wind chills, the Wii Guitar Hero controller would probably still be stuck to my hands and I have to type up my TPS reports with the whammy bar this morning.

No, the new car smell around the house is due to a grey cloud being lifted as normal conversations and laughs returned to our little plot of land near the highway. Despite a certain trip I will be indulging in the next four days (I have mentioned said trip right?) the family points have been stored up to enjoy the annual poker blogger journey guilt-free to the valley of sin and free drinks at the Pai Gow table being dealt by Svlanana the former star point guard for the Belarus Bobcats or Xi who moonlights as a hand model and has done commercials for Palmolive and Sonic Burgers.

Its funny how a little gloomy weather mixed in with the usual flow of life around the house can strike a wrong chord that gives off a fingernails-on-chalkboard tone. Up here you never get used to the weather; you just run to the nearest internet kiosk or laptop and bitch about it on your blog. To be fair I haven’t been a beacon of sunshine as my poker losings and general stress over the past month has felt about as comfortable as getting back splash while taking a dump after that second helping of kung po chicken and fried rice. That’s when you give yourself a time out like sending your kids to the couch or their rooms for refusing to eat that delicious casserole you made from the last cup of Bisquick, cream of mushroom soup, whipping cream and some mystery meat leftover from your Aunt Mary’s Thanksgiving Day feast.

My time out consist of girly chat boxes, NFL football in proud display on the television monitor, kids dreaming of investing the rest of my bankroll into Transformers and play kitchens with utensils in their beds, and a little poker of course. The poker wasn’t relaxing as Daddy suffered through those aces mentioned above, and the fruity Apricot Pyramid in my hand managed to revert me into a calling station except for a bubble finish on a token SnG when I got my money in good and the RNG at Full Tilt decided to punish me for gloating about the Vikings with a few 80/20 beats.

I didn’t mention the Vikes?



Yes Jim, I'm talking playoffs (don't look at the last few weeks of posts for my waffling).

I don’t know if the Raiders woke them up or that Lambeau bitch slap they got three weeks ago, but wow they’re looking good. The Vikes are not Cowboys or Packers good, but with Jackson moving when he should and not throwing like a Division 1-AA third stringer, this team is watchable. Purple Jesus regained his form and made a mockery out of some horrible tackling by the Lions, especially his touchdown run where the cornerback looked like he was try to tackle Barry Sanders’ ghost and got stood up like me one week before the senior prom (not that I’m bitter Cyndy!!!).

Happy family, happy Drizz, bankroll looking like it just spent two days in one of Jigsaw’s death traps. I’ll take plus family karma over winning a race with pocket tens any day.

Thanks for dropping by, now did my bad eyesight deceive me watching the Sean Taylor sound bite before the Skins/Buffalo highlights on Sportcenter, but did I see a laminated sign with “The Meast” Taylor on it? If so, props to the KissMeSuzy fans if they did it. Best sports parody site out there, go this second and read. Especially fellow Vikes fan BigDaddyDrew, the man is a genius.

A Poke of Sunlight

I'm too wired about Vegas to write anything of substance right now. Or it could be the fact that the theory of inverse stupidity tournament play panned out yet again.

The Theorem rule is basically this...

If you want to bust out of a lower buy-in tourney to get some sleep due to life hitting you like the wind chill in Minnesota while crossing a darkened parking lot at 5:30am, you will suckout like a fluffer in a web cam gang bang.

After I took A8 (personally I call this "The Fat Tourist") with my micro stack against QQ and sucked out trip8s, I managed to chip up enough during the Omaha rounds of the Dookie to get to heads up with a fellow Cap'n Coke drunkard Hoy. Congrats to Hoy on taking care of that 750ml of Morgan and my weak play like a pro.

I'll be at the Mall of America this weekend for a little mini-vacation with the family. The waterpark/hotel two day stay was my penance to join you degenerates next week. Cheers.

8 days.

Edit: Fuck the NFL Network for monopolizing a very good football game tonight. Despite having a deep dislike for both teams, good football is good football and forcing me to go to a bar that will mostly likely contain 95% Farve Fanbois to view the contest is plain rude of them.

There better be 2 for 1s

Cribbage Anyone?

The new in-window air conditioner from Sears and Roebuck sat humming while people moved about at a weekend pace. The cabin was built from the hands of seven brothers nearly fifteen years earlier and a few of them were in the yard adjacent to the filled window slinging horseshoes towards metal stakes. A crick ran along side of the horseshoe pits that offered some muck for the throwing partner should your aim be on par with Mr. Magoo without his glasses on.

Out front, as always, was this year’s demolition derby car that was being gutted from unnecessary glass and seats for this year’s Sherburne County fair. A box filled with spare parts and another holding Krylon spray paint of various colors to fill the old Cutless Supreme with the names of the sons, spouses, and grandchildren of the couple that raised the seven boys.

An ex-girlfriend called them “the little people” which is easy to say since she stood at 6’2” and me at a few ticks above that. What they lacked in height, the ability to portray strength was never a question when an order was shouted to one of their sons to “knock it off” during one of their many wrestling matches that resembled a hockey fight before punches were thrown not Hulk Hogan versus Brutus “The Barber” Beefcake.

Since my slender frame didn’t allow me to toss a horseshoe with the accuracy shown on the pitching mound (ok, I could just throw hard and scare the hell out of the batter into swing) I took up indoor games with my grandmother. All card games were played for money: Gin Rummy, Rook, Pinochle, Five Card Draw, and of course Cribbage. The slate of marble with hand drilled holes, the imperfect green magic marker dividing the holes by five, and golf tees of various colors as pegs, this board is where I learned world of the four suits and luck of cutting the right card for a 24 count.

Always with a smile she’d politely ask for her quarter after yet another defeat. As most of the readers here are poker bloggers themselves and I think you’d find 95% of them could describe their grandmother or grandfather that introduced them to their love of cards. Yet another tie we’ll find to this motley crew of professionals, degenerates, and professional degenerates.

This is short and sweet, just like her.

Rest in peace grandma, and as promised while you were in the hospice, I’ll try to stay out of trouble.

At least until we go to Vegas.